


To Grow We Must Decay

by Alopex



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Older Characters, Wirt has some Serious Baggage (and it's not all related to That One Thing)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9160675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alopex/pseuds/Alopex
Summary: When Wirt's car breaks down in the backwoods of Oregon, it's the final straw on top of his already strenuous journey. He's lucky a stranger is at least willing to take him in for the night, seeing how Wirt knows well enough he will soon have much more to deal with than a broken down car.Aegri somnia, finis vitae sed non amoris, nunquam minus solus quam cum solus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Nothing is lost forever,_   
>  _Only see their form a change,_   
>  _Force and essence they lose never,_   
>  _In that path where mystery range,_   
>  _Stars that shine so bright upon us,_   
>  _Sun gives heat and light of day,_   
>  _Earth producing to sustain us,_   
>  _All are solved by growth, decay._
> 
> -Excerpt from "Growth and Decay" by Daniel T. Ambrose
> 
> ///
> 
> This work has been a major personal project for me for a number of reasons. First and foremost, it's a source of catharsis, a place for me to vent. Second, it's an exploration of characters that are particularly close to me. While this work is somewhat outside the parameters of canon, I hope to remain true to the characters while still managing to weave a unique take on their personalities. This is not a happy work by any means, but rather one that seeks to dig deep into the less savory aspects of human nature.
> 
> That being said, please enjoy this work of over a year in the writing, planning, and mulling over. The writing process with this has been painstakingly slow - I started writing this well over a year ago. Last October, I believe.
> 
> This is probably the final piece of Pinescone I will ever produce, given that my associations with it are complex at best, painful at worst. However, I knew I wouldn't rest until I saw this particular work to completion, so here it is. I was originally planning on finishing everything and posting the work in its entirety, but it looks like that won't happen unless I post it chapter by chapter. As such, some tags will be added later.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://statcounter.com/)  
>    
> 

Midway through the jungle that is Oregon's redwood forest, Wirt finally begins to worry that he's lost amidst the unmarked highways. There's nothing but greenery here, the last town he saw miles behind him. The low growl of his old car concerns him, but his mind is buzzing with enough worry that it isn't his primary issue. 

Wirt pulls off to the edge of the highway to stretch his legs and check the map he had snagged from a gas station. He has been driving for what feels like ages and has grown weary of endless towns and deserts, but the woods are a pleasant change from the scrubby ocean scenery of his college home. They remind him of his old passions and comforts, and a burning desire to get lost amidst the mossy trunks immediately overwhelms him. He almost contemplates taking a short walk as a break from the driving, but he doesn't fancy getting even more lost that day. Besides, he knows he shouldn't linger for long, driven by a need to keep moving, to keep distancing himself from his past. Sighing, he plunges the key back into the ignition, mentally readying himself for another long drive. 

The car doesn't start.

Wirt twists the keys. His heart pounds rapidly.

The worn vehicle sputters and dies out.

"N-no, not this, not now," Wirt mumbles to himself, but quickly realizes that trying anything else is futile.

A walk it is. No matter what, he isn't going to be a sitting duck.

Left with no other options - his phone lies forgotten back home, and the thought of hitchhiking brings a hundred worst-case scenarios to mind - Wirt grabs his suitcase and decides to tread forward in search of a town.

Half an hour into his walk, he's oddly relieved that his car broke down. Part of him is enjoying the scenery, and yet anxiety blooms in his chest like a toxic flower, and twice he's forced to lean against a tree and focus on his breathing.

He's stupid, remarkably stupid - getting into a situation like this was _classic_ for someone like him. If anything, he probably deserves everything that comes to him. At this point, Wirt doesn't even try to quell the thought, allowing self-loathing to consume him on the walk, to the point where he hardly notices the heat of the late-summer sun beating down on his neck.

Only after two hours of pacing the highway does he finally come across the first exit into a small town, and another hour until he actually finds a road leading off the main towards a residence. A dilapidated sign stands on the edge of the road, but it's too overgrown to read.

Wirt finally makes it to a small, ancient-looking cabin standing in the clearing. At first glance, it looks abandoned, but the car standing outside is clearly in regular use. He pauses at the tree line. What if the person living here thinks he is trespassing and will send him off elsewhere? How much longer would he have to walk to the next place? What if they are hostile, or own a gun they are itching to shoot? 

Tears threaten to fall from his eyes. Utterly exhausted with his whole ordeal, especially with the heat starting to get to him, Wirt can't handle any more misfortune.

All he has to do is ask to borrow a phone to call road assistance, and perhaps beg for a drink of water to stave off the summer sun. How hard can that be?

Warily, he approaches the door, ready to turn tail at any moment. Sweating under his jumper from the sweltering summer heat, he can feel his skin grow even hotter at the idea of conversing with a stranger. The porch creaks unbearably under his feet, and after pausing for a good minute to compose himself, he knocks. 

A crash sounds from inside, and within moments, a bedraggled man opens the door, looking confused and somewhat suspicious at having a visitor. "Uh, hello?"

"Uh, I-I hope I'm not interrupting anything, and I really don't wish to inconvenience you, but my car broke down on the highway and I've been walking a while now and I was wondering if you let me borrow a phone, I sorta forgot mine and really need to call," Wirt rattles off, not wishing to burden a stranger with the darker details of his predicament. Quickly, he adds, "If that's not a hassle. I don't wanna bother you."

Despite Wirt's fears, the man's expression changes to one of sympathy, though he still keeps a distance from the stranger on his porch. "Oh God, that's awful. Where's your car? Do you need a hand jumping it?"

"I'm not sure. I had to walk a few hours to get here, and this was the closest place from the highway."

"A few _hours_ , off the _highway_? Listen, come on in, you look spent. I'm about to have lunch if you wanna join." There is something almost shy in his tone even though he was still cautious, like that of a lonely, bullied kid at school who hopes his newest friend wouldn't stab him in the back like the previous one. Granted, Wirt is in the exact same position, but he couldn't help but wonder what life is like for someone in such a desolate area. 

Though nervous about walking into a stranger's house, Wirt feels something trustworthy in the softness of his hazel eyes, and he _is_  famished, especially after consuming more alcohol than actual real food over the last few nights. Besides, he could call road service any time. No one would steal a broken hunk of metal on a highway this far from civilization.

Probably. His luck is at a new low today.

"Sure, if that's okay with you," Wirt fidgets.

"Of course it is," the man smiles warmly and ushers Wirt in. Despite his rough, unkempt appearance, Wirt finds something charming in him. Even the bags under his eyes and his unkempt hair don't make him as off-putting as he thinks they'd be. Wirt likes the way his shirt drapes over his back, and his sturdy, broad-shouldered build. In fact, at first glance, there's a lot he likes about the man.

 _No, it's too soon for these sorts of thoughts_ , Wirt thinks, his chest constricting as a painful flashback struck his mind.

_Hands running down his back, lips at his neck, the caresses light but overwhelming. Whispers after whispers, reassuring him that this path is the right one to take, and he agrees unconditionally to any demands._

_Phone calls filled with lies that eventually crashed down upon him in a flood of guilt and rejection, his own kin leaving him to fend for himself._

_The whispers take away the pain for a while, until one day the teeth behind once gentle lips fill his wounds with poison._

Wirt shakes himself, the betrayal from both sides still burning a hole in his fragile soul. But is it really too soon to feel kindly towards the stranger? Feelings are a very human thing to feel, even if they aren't always ideal, and Wirt is never one to glorify logic over the heart. Maybe it _is_ the right time - he isn't under anyone's jurisdiction anymore, nor does he need to obtain anyone's approval.

"So, are you from the area?" the stranger interrupts his thoughts as he leads him through the homely, rustic cabin into a well-lit kitchen.

"No, I'm not from around here." This certainly isn't the first time. "I've been on the road a while. Do you know where Monteray Bay is?"

The man whistles lowly. "That's far. A few hours south of where I grew up, actually. Were you driving back home?"

"The opposite, actually," Wirt replies, shoulders slumping. Tears prick at his eyes, exhaustion from the road beginning to get to him.

"Oh. So, where are you off to, then?" His host furrows his eyebrows, but he seems to catch the look on Wirt's face, and his voice softens.

"I don't know. I just drove off in a random direction," Wirt admits. Perhaps it would be a good idea to open up, if only a little. Repressing everything has only done him harm. His eyes glaze over from the flood of memories.

"I." Wirt hiccups. "I Just got out of a bad situation."

Catching himself, Wirt adds hurriedly, "I don't mean to dump this on or burden you with it. Sorry."

The last traces of wariness left the man's eyes, flooding instead with sympathy. He sits down in the chair across from him. "I'm not going to ask details, but you managed to get up and leave a toxic situation? That's incredibly brave. You know, I don't wanna seem pushy, but you're welcome to stay the night - or however long you need - if you're in a tight spot. Unless you do wanna get a hotel," he tacks on hastily. "It's your call."

If he is honest with himself, Wirt had expected to spend the night alone with only a bottle of something strong for company, but he has been starting to think it wasn't such a good idea, at least not for his liver.

"No, it's nice to have some company for once. I'm getting sick of hotels."

"Sure thing. I've got a guest bedroom. A few actually. I live alone. Not by choice! It just happens to be that way." Despite the rebuttal, the man seems somewhat embarrassed about it. "Anyways, you can borrow my phone to call the car company while I fix us some lunch. I hope you're okay with ham and mayo sandwiches?"

"Yeah, anything is fine. Uh, thank you for everything, by the way."

"Of course. Oh, wow, I never introduced myself! Name's Dipper, by the way" says the man, reaching his hand out for a shake.

Wirt takes it, noting its warmth and roughness, smiling genuinely for the first time in a week.

"I'm Wirt. It's nice to meet you."

* * *

 

Every night for the last four days, Wirt had stated he would _probably_ be leaving the next day, especially since his car was patched up and ready to go. Each following morning, Wirt decides he will rest another day at the Shack. Dipper doesn't pressure him to go - if anything, he urges the man to stay, seeming rather excited about having a guest. He admits that while he's got enough acquaintances, he hasn't had such rewarding conversation in a while. On top of that, Wirt is a gracious guest: quiet, clean, and more than willing to assist Dipper with any chores in exchange for bed and breakfast.

Though his situation has seen a drastic improvement, Wirt's already declining mental health drops further each day. Anxiety befalls Wirt, making him physically ill at the mere thought of his ever-looming past catching up to him. He doesn't eat or sleep much, but he is glad to spend his downtime with Dipper, who does an excellent job in distracting him. In fact, Wirt could have very easily adjusted and gotten better if it wasn't for the nightmares that grow progressively worse each night, his trauma regurgitating in a terrifying form.

Still, Dipper is a godsend, quick to pick up on Wirt's sleep deprivation and unafraid to confront him about it over breakfast one morning. He's blunt, but somehow in a sensitive, thoughtful way. He confesses he's dealt with insomnia for years, and offers Wirt some tea (as he had quickly learned was his preference over coffee) and company whenever his anxiety spikes.

"Do you want to set up a second bed in my room?" Dipper prompts after handing Wirt his drink.

"Why? I don't wish to bother you." Wirt already feels bad for taking so much of Dipper's time this past week.

"You won't. C'mon, at least try it. It might help, and I wouldn't mind sharing a room," Dipper admits.

Wirt thinks he spots something in Dipper's eyes and his pulse increases enough for him to feel his heart fluttering in its cage. This alone is enough for Wirt to agree, and soon they are spending a good portion of the afternoon carefully moving the heavy bed upstairs, attempting and failing not to chip the paint on the walls.

By the time they are done, night has fallen, and after a quick dinner they decide to turn in.

Though he thinks he'd be exhausted enough to overcome his insomnia, the moment Wirt lies down to sleep, panic begins to seep from the dam he had struggled to build all day to keep it all contained. His mind betrays his efforts, drifting to the fuzzy, pleasant memories he had a few months ago, ones of happier times of elation and of discovery.

_"I'm so happy we can finally be like this."_

_"Aw, Wirt, don't get sappy on me. This is only the beginning - it only gets better from here."_

_"I know." Wirt mumbles, but he wraps his arms tighter around the body next to him, the warmth of the bed lulling him to sleep, for once content to brush away his paranoia._

And then the happiness fades and the floodgates break, and he's swept up in the rest of his memories, an emotional travesty that fully consumes him with the pain as raw as when he first experienced it. He shakes silently, torn up from the inside, alone and scared and lost. Tears stream silently from his eyes.

Eventually he hears a voice and feels a presence hovering over him. Dipper looms over him in the dark, scaring him for a moment, but the touch on his shoulder is a lifeline to reality. Wirt is in a haze as he's pulled across the room into Dipper's cozier bed and warm embrace. He burrows into it subconsciously, unknowingly craving the company of another, at least trying to pretend that it will help him.

But it does help, and his breath stills even though his mind is still racing. Part of him is unnerved at the sudden contact, worried that this would make things awkward, but if anything, the man's presence is soothing. Wirt's eyes flutter shut as he grips Dipper's shirt to pull himself closer.

He's still drifting mentally until he finally passes out from sheer exhaustion.

* * *

 

They wake to soft sunlight filtering through the window, limbs entangled and at peace. Wirt's eyes are closed, a soft smile on his lips as he nestles into the warmth of a chest.

"Hey, handsome."

Wirt's eyes snap open, a chord of chilling fear running down his spine. Recoiling, he moves to push Dipper away gently, who looks confused and a little hurt.

"Whoa, Wirt, are you okay?"

"No-yeah-no. I'm still not used to. To this."

"Hey, if you're not into men, it's oka-"

"No, no! It's not that! Quite the opposite. I-I just. I grew up in a really homophobic family, and they were - and when I came out they- a-and my last partner- and-" Wirt pour out before he stops himself, swallowing thickly and curling in on himself, not wanting to ruin the moment any more than he already has.

Even though Wirt had silenced himself, Dipper still shushes him. "Hey, hey, you don't have to say a word if it's all still raw. In fact," Dipper replies, shifting to get up. "I can leave you be if you'd like."

"Wait! Stay," Wirt whines, tugging weakly at Dipper's sleeve, the prospect of being left alone worse than any residual guilt. The man grins, scooping Wirt up tightly.

"Well if you really want me to, I suppose so," he teases. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah. Thank you," Wirt mumbles against Dipper's chest.

"So. Homophobic family, huh? Is that what you're fleeing from? I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not that. I'd rather not talk about it," Wirt responds flatly, expression souring.

"Sorry." Dipper's voice loses its energy.

"No, it's fine," Wirt squirms. "I just really don't want to think about it right now."

They're silent for a moment, each in their own thoughts.

Wirt sighs, snippets of memory still flickering in his mind. He ought to pick up writing again just to have a place to vent instead of keeping it all in, but the past few weeks have been too busy. That in itself wasn't a problem, however, and it did better to distract him from his troubles than anything else he could be doing. Perhaps he should finally clue Dipper into his past. After all, the guy did help him more than anyone else had in months, even though he was still technically a stranger.

His train of thought breaks when warm lips press to his cheek.

His baggage would have to wait.

Wirt freezes in shock, not expecting _this_ of all things, but before Dipper can apologize, Wirt kisses him chastely on the cheek back. Dipper laughs, clearly in relief, and smooches him again. Wirt returns in kind, a giggle bubbling in his throat as well. The bad memories suddenly seem so insignificant.

Dipper rolls Wirt onto his back, and their laughter goes silent when their eyes meet.

_Like the foggy sea meeting an autumn forest._

Dipper leans in first, their lips finally meeting. He pulls away for hardly a moment before Wirt tugs him back in, and suddenly they're unable to get enough of each other. Their hands don't wander much, instead focusing on getting as close as possible to each other, gripping at clothes, skin, hair, as if both of them were afraid the other would dissipate into the air.

Moments turn to minutes, and the minutes drag pleasantly as the two relax their intensity to properly enjoy each other's touch. Unburdened by any responsibilities, they kiss the morning away, enjoying the warm summer morning in each other's arms.

"Dipper," Wirt pulls away suddenly, his expression serious, a question burning in his mind.

"Mhm?" Dipper looks sleepily at him, his half-lidded gaze causing Wirt's heart to swoon.

"Can I stay with you? I know that's sudden and I understand if you-" Wirt starts to rattle off, but Dipper cuts him off.

"Oh, shut up. I thought you'd never ask, of course you can. It's all I want."

Wirt only smiles, and kisses Dipper again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt settles into his new home and into a better mental state. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 9/13/17: I can't really push updates until I publish a new chapter, but I wanted to throw out a couple of things to returning readers:  
> -Chapter 3 is finally being properly worked on!   
> -Two flashback scenes in this chapter (2) have been altered because there have been some changes to the story. It took me a while to really incorporate it since I had to rethink the ending, but I think it will make for a stronger story (and it'll be more of the story that I've wanted to tell).  
> -Before I post Ch. 3, I will probably edit Ch. 1 + 2 a little bit to ensure there aren't any major inconsistencies.
> 
>  
> 
> _Adam, father of all races_   
>  _Color changing " black, brown, white;_   
>  _Complex too, tradition faces._   
>  _History fails to give much light._   
>  _Take one hundred weight of surface._   
>  _Encased therein grows huge tree, gay._   
>  _Essence from the air must purchase._   
>  _Mystery solved in growth, decay._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> -Excerpt from "Growth and Decay" by Daniel T. Ambrose.
> 
> ///
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and your kudos!! I wasn't expecting much, but all the kind comments really warmed my heart, so thanks for reading and thank you so much for waiting through such a long delay! I wanted to apologize for this work having such an awful updating schedule - I've had a really hectic semester of university. This chapter also got a little long, so making sure it flowed and was edited properly took some time. Thank you again for your patience! <3
> 
> Note: Periodically, I go over past works and edit them slightly, especially if it's been a while. If you have eagle eyes and noticed the word count shift a while back, that's all that was. I've been my own editor, so things slip through. Also, I've added the first part of the poem in the author's note so please do check back there!
> 
> tw: alcohol use, alcohol abuse mention, homophobia from family (a short few paragraphs in a flashback - it is the second flashback fyi). (It's significant to the plot but please let me know if you'd rather have it marked with asterisks. I don't want to break the flow of my text but I would do it for others (and lbr i need it marked for myself bc writing that part triggered some nasty flashbacks of mine anyways omg)). (Please let me know if I missed any tags.)  
> [](http://statcounter.com/)  
>   
> 

 "Dipper! Dipper, oh my god, oh dear god-"

 

"Wirt? Are you hurt? Is everything okay?!" Dipper nearly trips over himself as he sprints to the living room, where a panicked Wirt has collapsed to his knees after a sprint, breathing hard. "What the hell happened?"

"I-I-I was outside t-taking out the t-trash and there was a noise in the w-woods and I looked up and at _first_  I thought it was just a deer but then I looked again and it was big and had horns and wings a-and-"

"Wirt, relax," Dipper tries not to laugh at the sorry sight as he kneels down beside Wirt to scoop him up into his arms. "That's normal. Well, not _quit_ e normal, but-"

Wirt screeches shrilly, pushing away from the embrace: " _Normal?_ Dipper, it was a _monster!_ Monsters aren't 'normal!' There's something terribly wrong out there!"

"What color was it?"

"What?" Wirt looks at Dipper with sheer bewilderment. "What do you mean? W-who cares, it-"

"Just trust me. What color was it?" Dipper repeats firmly.

Wirt looks at him dubiously. "White. Red eyes, I think?"

"And the horns?"

"A whole bunch on its head, twisted grotesquely around each other."

"'Grotesquely,'" Dipper snorts. "Half-plucked, ratty, feathered wings? Four hoofed legs?"

"Yep. "Wirt deflates at Dipper's nonchalant attitude, who acted as though Wirt is a kid who overreacted about something insignificant. He finds it rather off-putting.

"It sounds like you've seen a multicorn. Like a unicorn, but with too many horns. Not that unusual, if you ask me."

"I. Uh. Excuse me?" Wirt blinks, stunned into a stupor.

"You heard me. You heard me, right?" Dipper adds concernedly.

"I don't think _you're_ hearing yourself. Unicorns aren't real," Wirt brushes himself off, regaining his composure. "Neither are monsters. Of course not! Hah, I was stupid. I'm sure it was just a mutation. There's no defunct nuclear plant nearby, is there?"

"Actually, there is, but mutations or monsters, Wirt, it's all real," Dipper rolls his eyes again. "Unicorns too. Assholes, if you ask me. Multicorns are a bit friendlier, if stupider. I should probably clue you in, let me grab something real quick."

Before Wirt can retort, Dipper disappears into another room, returning quickly with a rugged blue journal. "Here are some of my writings on the area. My great uncle was better at the whole documentation stuff, so I'll try to dig out whatever's left of his research. Everything he didn't burn, at least."

Dipper shoots off into a brief history of Gravity Falls, excitedly explaining how he first discovered its secrets as a young boy, and how his relative before him devoted his life to researching the area. Wirt meanwhile flips through the book, taking in what looks like a fantasy book from the kid's section of a bookstore. "You told me the other day that you filmed _nature_ documentaries."

"The paranormal _is_ nature. It's the subject of my film and research. Has been for years."

"Really?" Wirt glares up at him, still skeptical. For all he knew, these are the whimsical writings of a fantasy book author. Suddenly it is hard for him to take Dipper seriously as a person. "Please don't tell me you're one of those weirdos chasing after Bigfoot."

"Is that what you think of me?" Dipper's face darkens. He crosses his arms. "Do I look like the kind of guy to don a tinfoil hat?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of."

"Okay, fair, good point," Dipper agrees, flushing slighty. "But why do you think I haven't told you anything until you witnessed something supernatural for yourself? C'mon, Wirt. You saw that thing outside with your own two eyes. It's still out there, y'know, if you wanted a closer look."

Dipper jabs his thumb at the window. The pallid beast is indeed there, nosing through the grass out front, as real as the trees it paces between. Wirt has to begrudgingly admit to himself that even a house of mysteries can't play parlor tricks like this.

"Maybe I don't care to know," Wirt scoffs, but doubt seeps into his voice as he continues to stare out the window.

"Are you sure you don't want to go see it closer? Seeing is believing," Dipper pleads, voice cracking with his joke. His shoulders slump slightly.

Wirt hesitates, his eyes clouded as he lapses into a memory.

_Dark shapes flutter around him, enveloping him in feather, tooth, and claw. Wirt tries not to scream as his mind fails to comprehend his surroundings. They meld into somewhat more recognizable shapes - people, animals, and monsters with glowering eyes and unholy screams. The images become more and more familiar until they suddenly merge into one horrifyingly tall being with glowing, hypnotic eyes._

_"You don't have to suffer through these nightmares. Or the nightmare that's your life, for that matter."_

_Like a knife, a voice cuts through the illusion, making it disappear and leaving Wirt in the white void of his dream._

_"I-I'm not suffering." Wirt's voice is a hushed breath._

_He feels a mockingly tender hand tilt his chin upwards, but he cannot make out the figure looming over him, his vision blurry from the tears streaming silently down his face. "I know how much your hurting. You know it, too, no use denying it."_

_Wirt said nothing, only staring up desperately at the owner of the voice._

_"Help me out, and I'll help you."_

"Uh, Wirt?"

"S-sorry!" Wirt jumps, shaking the memory away. "I'm not sure if I want to go out there."

His voice seeps of hesitance, but Wirt may as well get over himself. He stands up, motioning for Dipper to lead the way. Misguided or not, Dipper has been nothing but kind to him, and it was unfair to distrust him, even if his instincts screamed at him not to. Wirt follows Dipper out the door, staying back on the porch as Dipper tromps up to the beast. Without a trace of fear, Dipper holds out his hand for the multicorn to sniff before petting it gently along its neck. It snorts, then returns to clipping the grass, its tail flicking away bothersome insects.

"See? Nothing to fear. Get over here, it won't be so hard to comprehend once you've touched it."

"I-I think I'm okay here," Wirt calls from the safety of the porch. The multicorn's ears twitch, not unlike a horse or a deer. Wirt's mind runs in circles trying to rationalize the anomaly, but nothing seems to work.

It's real, and he has to accept it.

"Suit yourself," Dipper shrugs. "But do you believe me now?"

"I guess."

Dipper pulls his hand away from the creature, and the multicorn bounds away into the woods.

_"_ Why don't we take a walk, hm? I haven't had a chance to show you the woods yet. They're real nice this time of year, and I promise we won't go deep enough to encounter anything dangerous."

As much as Wirt was still spooked by the sudden appearance of the creature, his longing to be back among the trees is too overpowering.

"Okay."

* * *

 "I spent most of my summers here, studying and exploring. After high school, I went off to a small state college, which was probably the most boring thing I'd ever done. Then again, nothing my professors taught could compete with learning from the guy who spent most of his life hopping dimensions - don't give me that look, I know. I'll tell you _that_  story later," Dipper snorts at Wirt's skeptical look. 

"Anyways, after I got my film degree, I completed my first feature-length documentary of the area - not that I really needed the education to do that, but it helped. Made enough money - courtesy of the indie industry - to give myself a start in life, and it helps when your great uncles gift you their house as a graduation present. But now I actually mostly upload short videos online. You'd be surprised at the ad revenue that garners. People eat it up. I can't tell you how many comments a day I get about the quality of my props. Except for the hypercritical handful that tells me the CGI sucks," Dipper laughs. "But I'm content with the populace thinking it's fake. It's easier on me, anyways."

Wirt silently reflects how upset Dipper was when _he_ didn't believe him, but he tactfully keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't want to ruin the peace just yet. His eyes drift back and forth between the man and the surrounding woods. Wirt would enjoy it more if it wasn't for the pressure of a headache building up, but he sucks it up, not wanting to ruin the moment. 

There's something familiar and nostalgic about Dipper but he can't quite place it. It's a comforting thought, and it warms him to see someone so passionate about his craft. Sure, the man lives alone in a shack in the woods, but he looks so _happy_. Why wouldn't he be? He gets to follow his passion, live in a place he feels at home, and have a supportive group of friends and family. Wirt has none of those.

However, if things go well with Dipper, he might have a shot at those things too.

"We used to get tourists all the time, actually. That was my other grunkle's trade. One of his former workers kept it going for a while, but he and his wife moved to Portland a couple years back. I didn't really wanna to deal with strangers on a daily basis, though, so I make movies instead."

"So you're an online sensation, huh? Is it actually more profitable than full-length film?" Wirt inquires.

"Yeah, believe it or not. Plus, such videos are a bit easier to make since they're shorter," Dipper says. "So enough about me - what about you? You're some kind of writer, right?"

Wirt doesn't respond immediately, instead focusing on his surroundings before gathering his thoughts. Their walk thus far has been therapeutic; Wirt prefers listening to Dipper talk, and opening up is something he's been avoiding his entire stay. Granted, it has only been a few days, but Wirt doesn't know when he'll feel ready. So far he's managed to dodge any personal questions over, and he has to respect the fact that his host has never been pushy. But since Dipper humored him, he figures he owes him at least a little bit of his story.

"I actually studied civil engineering at a private university, with the hopes of moving into architecture. I've always appreciated interior design, but I figured I'd go into something more general and lucrative first."

"Really?" Dipper arches his eyebrows, and Wirt feels as if Dipper is already preparing to get bored with the conversation. A sinking feeling pools in Wirt's stomach at the thought that Dipper would be unimpressed if his mysterious guest's story was anticlimactic. "No offense, but I didn't take you for the math and science type."

"Me neither," Wirt agrees, masking his irritation at the remark. "That's why I quit school to pursue writing."

"You did not," Dipper grins, his attention immediately piqued again.

Wirt winces. "I did. Pushed by a f-friend, actually. I took a songwriting class as a creative outlet, or a break from all my engineering courses, and he helped me write better lyrics than I would have on my own. That class intensified my love for poetry and it snowballed from there. Eventually he got me to submit to college publications, then art magazines, and then to move out to pursue a full-time career in it. It wasn't my best move."

"Hell, that blows. Did no one buy your books once you moved out?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't my writing. I was earning more money than my parents, and I was kind of a local celebrity for a while." Along with the pain of those memories comes a prickle of pride, and Wirt finds he misses that sense of accomplishment. Gravity Falls is lovely, but there is no way he could rebuild what he had, at least not here. With any luck, his disappearance won't put a huge damper on his fame.

"Then why was it a problem? College is overrated anyways," Dipper snorts.

Another memory overcomes Wirt.

_"You're_ what _?"_

_Wirt cringes from the sharp tone on the receiver. Taking a deep breath to still his fluttering heart, he whispers. "I'm moving up to Monterey with a friend."_

_"A friend, huh? You can't fool me. Wirt, you haven't even completed school! This is not what we're paying for. And "friend?" Don't bullshit me, we know what you are Wirt, and you need to_ stop _it."_

_"M-mom, it's seriously not like that! It's just a really good opportunity. I'm already making more money in a month than what school costs for a semester."_

_"Why can't you write it in school?"_

_"It's more complicated than that."_

_"Complicated? Don't bullshit me. You need to finish your education and quit that gay shit. It's disgusting."_

_"What?! I'm not like that, I-I swear!" At this point, Wirt is practically crying. "Why can't you believe me?"_

_"You know what? I'm sick of arguing with you over this-"_

_"I'm not arguing!"_

_"-and you're damn lucky I'm not going to tell your stepfather."_

_"Mom, I'm just_ moving _. I can finish school later, but I can't miss this chance."_

_"Is that what your_ boyfriend _is feeding you, huh? And after all the tuition we paid! After everything we did for you!"_

_"He's not my boyfriend! Why don't you believe me?" Tears begin to stream down Wirt's face. Holding his phone is becoming difficult with how much his hand shakes. "I'll pay you back for the tuition, and I'll find a school up there and finish my degree, or go back once I've settled down. This experience means so much more to me than that, and I can't miss it."_

_"Fine. Pursue your "dreams." But don't come knocking on my door when things go south."_

_Wirt opens his mouth to respond, but the line is already dead. A wiry hand sneaks its way around his shoulder, gripping tightly but soothingly._

_"It's not worth the tears."_

_Wirt turns quickly, shutting his eyes furiously as he buries his face in his friend's - how much of a friend was he? - chest, quickly devolving into a sobbing mess._

_"She knows, she knows, how does she know?" Wirt whimpers._

_"It's not your fault. Now, now, do not worry about it. I'm here. We can work through this._

_"Right," Wirt manages before dissolving once more into tears._

The memories course through him, but his mouth remains shut, not ready to verbalize any of it.

"It wasn't my writing," Wirt finally states after a short pause. "It was honestly everything except that. Things went well for a short bit, I got a lot of attention from publishers. But my family wasn't happy and cut me off completely, and later the friend turned out to be, well, not a friend."

"Was that the bad situation you were escaping?" Dipper asks gently. His brown eyes glimmer with compassion.

"Yeah. That's what it was. Do you have anything for a headache? I'm starting to feel nauseous." Wirt answers, then lapses into a silence. He feels off; Dipper shared what seemed like the entire chronology of his life, whereas Wirt barely managed to spit out anything significant. At least the other man doesn't push him to elaborate any more, only nods affirmatively at his question and falls into step with him. There's a prodding at his hand, and Wirt relents, allowing Dipper to take hold of his hand. It's rough - not calloused, but not as smooth as Wirt's either - but it is warm and comforting and the only thing tethering Wirt from spiraling into another bad memory for the duration of their walk.

* * *

 "I can't believe it's only been about two weeks since you first knocked on my door," Dipper yawns, pouring himself coffee. The midday sun streams through the translucent blinds into the welcoming kitchen. "It feels more like a _year_ has passed."

"I feel that way too," Wirt murmurs back, his heart fluttering. He clutches his own mug of tea closer, taking in its warmth. Since he's moved in, the once dusty house has significantly livened up. It was never filthy to start with, but subtle touches, courtesy of both of their efforts, have made quite the impact. Wirt, not wanting to feel useless, is more than eager to help out, but Dipper never lets him work alone either, and they end up chatting and bonding over the otherwise monotonous tasks. Blinds are always opened in the mornings to let sunlight in. Every shelf is dusted off weekly. The kitchen is put away each evening so that it was fresh and clean for the next day. Between the two of them, it takes hardly any effort, but the routine does a world of wonders for Wirt's sanity. Though still shaky, he is definitely sleeping better (it helps that Dipper holds him close each night) , and his mood is at an all-time high. Of course, 'slightly less paranoid' is not much of an improvement to speak of, but it is certainly a step up from 'daily mental breakdowns.' 

Dipper wanders over to where Wirt was sitting, resting his free hand on his shoulder. Wirt leans into the touch, and the pair stares out the window for a long moment.

"So, what's on the schedule for today?" Wirt asks, looking up at Dipper. His messy, russet hair practically glows in the sunlight, and Wirt is momentarily stunned.

"I dunno. I should probably edit some footage to upload for tonight."

"You don't film new videos weekly? I haven't seen you go out while I've been around- I haven't been slowing down your schedule, have I?"

"Not at all! I've got enough archived that I don't need to do go out every week. I do need to get some editing done, though - you wouldn't mind if I took the evening to do that, would ya?"

"Of course not. I don't want to stop you from working, I've already distracted you enough. Besides, maybe I'll get around to writing. I haven't cut ties with my publishers just yet."

"Sound like a plan, then."

* * *

 The sun is still slowly sinking below the trees when Dipper and Wirt retire to the couch, a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of them. Dipper works on his laptop and Wirt is curled up against him with a beat-up notebook and a pen, nursing his second glass of the golden liquor. He found the pad of paper a few days back, tucked away and forgotten in the glove compartment of his car, much to his surprise. He must've jammed it in there a long time ago; when he left on his trip, he hadn't even taken a change of clothes, let alone any other possessions, he recalls. 

_Wirt's stomach rumbles, and he looks longingly at the restaurants he's passing on the road. He shakes the thought, even though his wallet is in his pocket._ I might have forgotten my phone, which is fine, since he can't track my location that way, but he could still trace me by my bank activity. The only useful debit card I've got is _his_. I haven't put cash in my personal account in months _, Wirt thinks in horror. He is an hour out from home, and the area he's driving through is already unfamiliar. Then, as if it were the grace of God, he spots a branch of his bank, and with a stroke of brilliance he quickly veers into the lot. Collecting himself, he strides inside and asks for as much cash as the teller would allow, relieved his friend's card isn't frozen yet. This would be the only time he'd use it. If he pulled out enough cash, he'd be able to eat, buy a few sets of clothes, and then go off the grid until he could reestablish himself, given that he fled with only his wallet and the clothes on his back._

_He was pretty sure withdrawing as large an amount as he did was borderline illegal, but this was a unique, high-end bank, and the account is under his friend's name - it's his problem now._

_Back on the road, he changes course for due north. He's driven east towards the mainland so far, and would need to throw off his trail._

Wirt flips through the pages of the notebook, a little nauseous and a little excited. It contains poetry he wrote early in college before he moved, including excerpts from lyrics he had written for his songwriting class. Though the discovery ended up pushing back his original plan of writing, reading through the lines ends up being rather cathartic, bringing back memories that for once aren't too painful.

He finishes his shot, and pours himself another.

"Is that your poetry?" Dipper inquires, glancing away from his own work. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Let me go through it first," Wirt flushes. Dipper laughs knowingly, but lets him be.

One poem in particular strikes Wirt - the first one his friend helped him write, the one that marked a significant change in his style and helped him break out of the writer's block he had been in. Unlike his prior rambling stanzas, this one had structure, and read more like a story than the mindless mumblings of a lost soul. That alone isn't the reason it sticks out - the poem includes a perfect description of Dipper. Tousled brown hair, dark, tired eyes, the smell of musk and pine and whiskey, the lonely demeanor, a careless sense of bravery: they were too close a match to be a coincidence. Surely his friend, who lives miles away, doesn't know Dipper? He was the one who suggested some of those traits.

Wirt shakes the thought. Of course it's a coincidence. All the traits described are fairly generic, and Wirt added in his own elements into the poem.

If it's anything at all, it's certainly fate.

Wirt skims the rest of his writing before handing off the notebook to Dipper. His eyes are growing tired as it is, so he refills his half-finished glass and snuggles fondly into Dipper's side as he awaits his commentary. The man immediately dives into the text, fully absorbed. Despite feeling self-conscious, Wirt is charmed whenever anyone is interested in his work, especially someone as special to him as Dipper.

"You really have a knack for this," Dipper murmurs after a while. "They're rather dark, though."

"Oh, I guess," Wirt frets. Perhaps they were. He always forgets that what's normal to him appears very morbid to others.

"They're great, though," Dipper reassures. "This folksy one with the animals is great. And this one - did you write it recently?"

"No, these are all old." Wirt replies, then looks at the page Dipper is pointing at. A chill runs through him. _Of_ course _he_ _zeros in on that one._ "Funny, I was looking at that one earlier."

"Are you sure it's old? I don't want to sound narcissistic, but it almost feels like you're describing me."

"I wrote it over a year ago, but I agree, it does sound like I'm describing you. It's really uncanny."

"Right? Spooky. I really liked these, and I'd love to read anything else you've got, new or old," he hands Wirt the journal back. "So I'll be done editing in a few and we can- hey, how much whiskey have you had?"

Wirt freezes mid-sip. "Uh. I don't know. I lost track."

"You've drunk at least a third of the bottle. How are you not slurring your words?"

"My tolerance is really high," Wirt murmurs, his face flushing red. He is feeling a little dizzy, but it's nothing he's not used to keeping under control. Wirt is just relieved Dipper didn't accuse him of being a drunk.

Dipper looks him up and down. "For such a scrawny thing like you, I would have never guessed. No offense."

"None taken," Wirt murmurs, his mind already elsewhere. He's never craved alcohol until this trip, relying on it to get to sleep each night he spent in a cheap hotel. Now that he's mentally in a better place, he doesn't necessarily feel reliant on it, but he finds it oddly hard to stop drinking once he starts.

_After countless days on the road, Wirt has officially decided that chlorine and alcohol are among the most foul scents he knows. They also happen to be smells that he is, to his utmost regret and disappointment, growing a little too accustomed to. Then again, that is to be expected seeing how he finds himself in a musty hotel each night, his back to the window and his only accompaniment a glinting bottle of cheap booze._

_A glaring light beams through the cracks in the blinds, providing the only source of illumination in the entire room. Wirt couldn't tell if it was still afternoon or if the incandescent streetlights had gone on, but he couldn't be bothered to check a clock for the time._

_He had spent the last week neither rushing nor stalling but merely existing, drifting down the highway as far as his fatigued soul could take him each day. He still hasn't decided where he would go._ _Part of him does not want to settle down anywhere; he is starting to get used to this cycle of driving mindlessly and crashing each night in a cheap motel. It's poetic, at least in a pathetic, twisted way._

_The bottle of gin in his grasp is open but untouched. Wirt stalls with his drink, almost unwilling to forget, unwilling to purge the negativity from his thoughts. A sick part of him craves to feel crumpled, broken, used._

_His eyes drift to the label, and he is suddenly glad he picked something with such a high proof. Not only would he need less of it to lose himself, but he'd be able to save some for the next day. He was growing weary of plodding into a run-down liquor store at the end of each long day of driving, sickened by the dirty looks cast by the other patrons, as though they somehow knew of his affliction. It wasn't his fault he had such a ragged, unkempt appearance from traveling. More than anything, Wirt despises the gaze of the shopkeepers watching him warily and always feels self-conscious ringing up his purchase._

_Today's clerk took one look at him and warned him sternly not to drink the whole bottle in one night. Bitterness had welled in Wirt's chest, peeved at being treated like a compulsive child. He'd drink the whole thing just to spite her if it wouldn't make him too sick to drive._

_He takes his first swig of gin straight from the bottle and instantly regrets it; he swallowed too eagerly and nearly gags from burning his throat._

_It takes three shots for him to feel anything, and five to put him to sleep, but it's still not enough to make him forget the reason he was out there in the first place._

"Are you okay?" Dipper asks in that gentle tone that so easily crumbles Wirt's resolve. "Some of you poetry was _really_  depressing, and I know it's not necessarily a reflection of your mental state, but if you ever need to talk about any-"

"It's old writing. I'm fine," Wirt snaps defensively. Dipper recoils, and Wirt instantly feels bad, though he finds trouble expressing it. "I'm sorry. It's not an easy subject."

"I know," Dipper rebuts. "But you don't need to snap. I just feel as though you're really holding back. I don't want you to feel that way around me."

Wirt bristles, quickly losing patience. He moves away from Dipper, arms crossed. "I don't owe you my life's story."

Dipper looks wounded, and tries to scoot forward towards Wirt. "I'm not saying that! I just wish I knew what was going on with you so I could help you."

"Maybe I don't want help." The words spill out of Wirt's mouth. Guilt stirs inside him, but is squashed down by conflicting feelings of anxiety and anger that he has trouble controlling

"Clearly," Dipper snorts, getting the hint and backing away from Wirt. "If you don't want it, I don't have to give it."

A silence lapses over them. The two have scooted to opposite ends of the couch by now, both looking elsewhere in the room except at each other. _If this is the response I get for saying no, then I_ definitely _don't want to tell him anything._  It pains Wirt to draw such a conclusion, but it is still reminiscent of recent controlling situations he's dealt with, and thought alone sets him on edge.

_He always says he won't pry and pretends to drop it, but he constantly tries to bring it up._  The thought alone fuels Wirt's rage.

Dipper finally sighs. "Look, I don't want to be pushy."

Wirt flinches, but Dipper does not notice.

"I just thought that you'd trust me enough to share more about you than what you majored in college. I feel like I barely know you beyond what I can observe."

"Maybe there's nothing to tell."

"Of course there is. For starters, I don't even know your friend's - ex-friend's?- name, and you've mentioned him half a dozen times."

"That's because it's not important. Again, I don't have to tell you anything." Wirt stands his ground partially out of stubborness, but mostly because even the thought of divulging his past terrifies him. Why can't Dipper understand that he doesn't wish to share? Wirt huddles in on himself as he scoots even further away, breaths starting to come out rapidly.

Dipper shoots him a wounded look. "Are you really going to hide everything? How can I trust you when you can't trust me?"

"This isn't about trust."

"Of course it is!" Dipper fumes. "I know you've got issues, but believe it or not, so do I. And if I'm going to dance around your fucking problems, I'd at least hope you have the decency to acknowledge mine."

He rises, shutting his laptop with a loud snap. Wirt's heart thrums fearfully, but Dipper turns on his heel and stomps off towards the bedroom. "I'm going to bed. It's not like we have anything else to talk about."

The footsteps grow softer as Dipper climbs the stairwell, but pause briefly. Dipper's voice brims with pain and regret as it carries down, a little softer than it was a moment ago. "You should come to bed, too."

Wirt sits unmoving for a few minutes, listening to Dipper shuffle around on the top floor. He's torn between looking out for himself and a sense of debt to Dipper. But the fact remains that he _isn't_ ready to retell his story. Not yet, not when everything is still so raw.

His gaze falls on the notebook that has caused him so much strife. It's flipped to a random page, and he notices a particular stanza.

_...The looming trees are black squares in a chessboard of snow,_  
_His oily legions, guided by his hand, are faithful to his knowledge,  
_ _And I am the last remaining pawn, cloak laced with silver, tremoring in the cold,  
_ _Never to reach the edge where my fate may turn around..._

It's been a long time since he's written about the Unknown, despite it nearly constantly being on his mind. That poem, he recalls, is one of his last works on the subject. His friend had weaned him off his creative crutch despite Wirt's obsession with it. He was admittedly a little sad about that, as weaving his experience into a twisted story had become a sort of passion of his.

Without finishing the dregs of his drink, Wirt pours himself a final shot and immediately downs it. This one hits him immediately, the burn in his throat fading into a soft cloudiness in his mind.

Tears well in his eyes as his thoughts turn back to Dipper.

_I should make things up to him. He's done so much for me, and it's unfair for me to treat him like this._

Wirt wanders upstairs, making sure his footsteps are quiet, but he almost trips in his intoxicated state, catching himself on the railing _._ He nearly starts crying. _And where would I be if it weren't for Dipper? Starting my third week of hotel hopping and drunkenly sobbing myself to sleep?_

When he finally makes his way to the bedroom, Dipper is already stripped down and in bed, facing the wall. Wirt didn't expect anything more after treating him so awfully. He quietly changes into pajamas and lies down beside Dipper, wrapping an arm around his midsection. If he is to be truthful, he doesn't particularly feel a desire to be affectionate, but rather finds physical touch easier to convey than words, especially with the lump in his throat.

However, within moments Dipper's stiffened shoulders relax, and he shifts to press against Wirt. Wirt is torn, still feeling as though he owes something to the man and yet not wanting to relinquish all his secrets just yet, but perhaps he could divulge at least one.

"I've got something go tell you," Wirt finally chokes out.

"Yeah?" Dipper grumbles, though he clearly seems curious. He turns around to face Wirt, whose heart clenches when he notices the tear trails down Dipper's cheeks. Letting out a deep breath, he starts:

"When I was in high school, I almost drowned."

Wirt finds it easy to tell this story. Unlike recent events, he's not only spent years mulling over his time in Unknown, but also discussing it with Greg and retelling it to others, not to mention the many times he's used it as inspiration for his writing.

He tells Dipper everything, struggling at first to stifle choked sobs, but eventually calming down, finding it therapeutic knowing that Dipper would believe every word he had to say.

Dipper takes in his story in silence, nodding along and only interrupting to ask a few questions for clarification. Mostly he just holds Wirt, brushing the occasional strand out of his hair or rubbing his back during the more intense parts of the story. By the time Wirt finishes, Dipper looks very thoughtful.

"It's _really_  interesting that you ended up in Gravity Falls then."

"Why is that?"

"It's an anomaly magnet," Dipper explains, shooting off into a brief explanation of a theory his great uncle worked on. "Things that deviate from the norm just end up here. It's not a bad thing. It just means that you're different. That you're special."

"Now you're just saying that," Wirt blushes, but the phrase is reassuring, even if it sounds made up.

"I'm not. Anyways, I don't blame you. That Unknown stuff wouldn've messed me up too. Hell, I almost witnessed the end of the world, and I'm still not really over that. Trauma stays with you, no matter how surreal it feels. But what you've described - especially with Greg's retelling - sounds like it was real."

"Y'know, I know it sounds like a lot to process, but it's not what keeps me up at night, though," Wirt confesses.

"It's not?"

Wirt shakes his head, but Dipper now knows better than to press him for answers, though he clearly looks miffed at not having made any real progress.

"Well, what about your poetry? Isn't that your escape from it?" Dipper asks.

"It's my escape back _into_ it." Wirt ignores the funny look Dipper gives him when he pauses. "I miss it sometimes. I can't really explain it. I thought it was all a dream, or an oxygen deprived vision, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I became obsessed, and later taken advantage of because of that. I constantly thought about going back. I stood on that riverbank for hours some days, dwelling on jumping in and seeing how long I could hold my breath, how long it would take before I was taken back to that place."

"What held you back?"

"I'm a coward," Wirt replies bitterly. "I always came up before I ran out of breath."

_Given what's followed, sometimes I wish I didn't._

"Don't say that. Maybe you've just got a well-developed sense of self-preservation. Not like me," Dipper grins. "I jump right into the mouth of a monster for the sake of a Vine."

"No, you're actually brave. I'm still just a coward."

"Whatever you say. But are you sure this didn't traumatize you? What keeps you up at night?"

"It did, but I've had worse things happen to me." Wirt falls silent again, mostly due to the giant lump in his throat, and Dipper gets the hint, not wishing to push his luck.

As the night crawls on, they peacefully drift off into their own thoughts and into their own dreams.

* * *

 The world is too bright when Wirt blinks awake from his head throbbing painfully. He particularly feels it behind his eyes, and after carefully untangleing himself from a still slumbering Dipper, he wanders downstairs for some medicine and a pot of tea. _I suppose I'm finally making up for the hangovers I should have had in college. At least I never got embarrasingly trashed in front of anyone, or drank at all for that matter._

Still, Wirt hadn't felt intoxicated last night, which he thinks is somewhat unfair given how hazy he feels today. The only thing more peculiar was the barrage of nightmares that plagued him all last night. He can't remember the details, but he does recall how unsettling the images made him feel.

Wirt starts on breakfast, making a portion for Dipper that he brings upstairs. He nudges the man awake gently, offering him the food, which is happily received.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like a huge tool yesterday," Wirt mumbles, picking away at his eggs.

Dipper pauses eating. "Dude, it's okay. Things happen. I shouldn't have pried anyways, even if I'm worried about you."

"I don't want to lose you." Wirt wipes away the forming tears.

"And you won't. Whatever or whoever hurt you in your past - the Unknown, that Beast character, or whatever came after that - we'll work through it together." Wirt feels a firm hand on his shoulder, and almost flinches from how suddenly passionate and protective Dipper looks, eyebrows narrowed into a determined expression. "You're not alone anymore. No matter how disillusioned or scared you feel, I'm here for you. I promise."

After an uncertain pause, Wirt pushes aside his plate and clambers up beside Dipper, wrapping his arms around him and burrowing his face in the crook of his shoulder. When he feels a pair of arms around him, he dissolves into tears.

_Maybe I have a shot at happiness after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have music inspo for this fic if anyone's curious here https://open.spotify.com/user/accipitrine/playlist/1sad47K6b0y09H8cvkioRY


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